


when you were young

by Arkham



Series: Pimms Week 2019 [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Jack is an Ace, Las Vegas Aces, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 03:43:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20333497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arkham/pseuds/Arkham
Summary: “Toxic” by Brittany Spears blasts into the blissful silence and Jack blinks blearily awake, fumbling at his bedside table for the source of the noise.That’s the last time he’s giving Kent his phone to look for directions...He squints at his phone and … and why is Mercy calling him at six o’clock in the morning?He clicks the green button then puts Mercy on speaker, falling back onto his pillow and closing his eyes again.“Someone had better be dead or dying,” Jack mumbles.///[Pimms Week 2019› "Younger" ]





	when you were young

**Author's Note:**

> My first stab at a de-aged fic! I wrote this in two hours and it has been beta'd exclusively by grammarly :P

“Toxic” by Brittany Spears blasts into the blissful silence and Jack blinks blearily awake, fumbling at his bedside table for the source of the noise.

_That’s the last time he’s giving Kent his phone to look for directions..._

He squints at his phone and … and why is Mercy calling him at six o’clock in the morning?

He clicks the green button then puts Mercy on speaker, falling back onto his pillow and closing his eyes again.

“Someone had better be dead or dying,” Jack mumbles.

“Jack. Dude. You gotta get over here, man. Kent is like— I don’t know what happened, but he’s like… A kid? I mean, obviously it can’t be Kent and this is all some sort of giant prank that definitely has Banksy’s name all over it but he _sounds_ like Kent and— and _crisse_, Jack, I didn’t know who else to call.”

Jack turns his head and groans into his pillow.

Just what he needed today.

A de-aged Kent.

///

Jack makes it to Mercy and Kent’s apartment in half an hour, a tray of coffees in hand because if he’s going to have to deal with this, he’s going to do it caffeinated.

Mercy swings open the door and he looks roughly as thrilled about the situation as Jack must look—if a bit more frazzled with his amber bedhead and threadbare Habs pajama pants.

“Coffee?” Jack asks, holding out the tray.

“Yeah. Thanks, man,” Mercy mumbles, taking the proffered cup and beckoning Jack in.

Kent—because it _is_ Kent—is perched on one of the high back chairs behind the counter. His hair is impossibly blond and his cheeks and jawline are still soft with baby fat, but that nose is Kent’s, those blue-grey-green eyes. All in the body of a kid who couldn’t have been more than twelve.

“Do you know where you are, Kent?” Jack asks, setting the coffee to the side for a moment. Mercy hangs back, cupping his coffee between his palms.

Kent scowls at him, and oh, that’s all Jack’s Kent too.

“Yeah,” he says cagily. “Who’re you?”

“My name’s Jack,” Jack replies. He thinks about holding his hand out for Kent to shake but that seems…awkward. “I, euh, I’m your teammate. But I guess Mer—René told you all that, eh?”

Kent shrugs again and shifts in his seat, curling his arms around his chest.

Jack sighs to himself.

This is gonna be a long day.

///

Jack considers the ramifications of giving a twelve-year-old a phone with whatever the fuck Kent keeps on his, but it’s not like Jack’s about to give Kent _his_ phone, so he gives Kent his aged-up self’s phone and the passcode, and shows him the folder full of games.

He gives Mercy the spiel—yes, that’s Kent; yes, de-aging is a real thing, not just a myth, and it runs in families; yes, Kent will snap out of it all by himself in a few days at most—and when Jack leaves, he takes Kent with him.

Kent is silent in Jack’s passenger seat, thumbs working away at the first person shooter game he’s playing on his phone and it’s… It’s odd, is the thing. In all of the years Jack has known him, Kent has never been one to stay quiet—even when he’s playing video games, there’s always a constant stream of commentary and cursing. But…Jack hadn’t known Kent when he was this young and the idea that he had been like this—quiet, distant—didn’t sit well in Jack’s stomach.

///

_ Today 8:17 AM _

**jack:** hey, do you remember the last time kent de-aged?

**audrey:** his first year on the aces i think?

**audrey:** why?

**jack:** _[img2940.png]_

**audrey:** fuck

**jack:** yeah

**audrey:** he snaps out of them pretty fast usually. i think his longest was three days but usually it’s around one.

**audrey:** rounds are starting so i gtg but lmk if anything changes

**jack:** will do :thumbs up: go save some lives, eh?

**audrey:** :thumbs up:

///

They have a game tonight—thankfully it’s at home—but Jack has to explain the situation to Coach, and then to the team. 

One of the trainers offers to look after Kent for a while, but Jack is distracted, wondering what could have triggered the shift in the first place. He knows more often than not it’s random, but sometimes it’s stress or exhaustion or, at its most extreme, a brain tumor or neurological condition.

Jack doesn’t realize how far he’s spiraled until Swoops pulls him to the side after some powerplay practice that doesn’t feel right without Kent in his wing.

“Dude,” Swoops says, brown eyes soft and concerned. “You’re shaking. Do you need a minute?”

Jack lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “I’m fine. It’s just…weird playing without Kent,” he says weakly.

Swoops nods. His gaze shifts slightly to Jack’s left and over his shoulder and he grins. “You’re not playing without him. He’s right there,” Swoops says, pointing with his chin.

Jack turns around and sure enough, there’s Kent, right up against the plexiglass. He’s watching Mercy whoop and tussle playfully with Bansky against the boards, but then it’s like he senses Jack’s gaze because his eyes shift to meet Jack’s and he’s _smiling_ and _that_— 

_That’s_ Jack’s Kent.

///

There’s nothing but the clink of cutlery, and for a few minutes, Jack thinks that Kent is going to be just about as talkative as he has been for the rest of the day, but out of nowhere he asks:

“You’re Jack Zimmermann, aren’t you?”

Jack blinks. “I— Yeah. You saw my name on my jersey?”

Kent shrugs and chews a bite of chicken. “You look like your dad,” he says finally.

Jack tilts his head slightly. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

They fall quiet for another few moments before Kent pipes up again.

“Have I always been an Ace?” Kent asks, poking at his broccoli.

“Yeah. You were— You went first in your draft class. To the Aces,” Jack says.

Kent smiles faintly. “First? Really?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Really.” Kent looks so _happy_ and Jack _wishes_ it had been that easy.

Jack wishes that Kent had been the obvious choice to go first in the draft, wishes that it had been all smiles as Kent donned the black and red Aces jersey, and met the GM that would give him a home and a team and a family. 

Jack wishes that he had been a year older than Kent, or a year younger. He wishes that he hadn’t had to watch Kent’s draft from a hospital bed.

“I guess I’m pretty good at hockey then, huh?”

Jack laughs. “Best winger I’ve ever had, for sure.”

There are another few moments of silence, but it’s less heavy this time.

“Thanks, Jack,” Kent says after a while.

Jack frowns. “What for?”

“I— I think you’re my friend? I have a bunch of pictures of us on my phone, anyway. And it’s, um, been really cool to hang out with you. And the rest of the guys and stuff. It’s— it’s nice. And I know you have hockey and stuff, but, uh, thanks for showing me around I guess.”

There’s something about the way that Kent says _“I think you’re my friend”_ that makes Jack’s heart break. “Of course you’re my friend,” Jack says firmly. “All of the Aces love you, Kent. Me, Mercy, Swoops, Spence—all of us, okay? You watch out for all of us, always have, so of course we’ll watch out for you.”

Kent doesn’t smile, not quiet, but Jack can see some of the tension ebb from his frame.

///

The Avs beat the Aces 4-3, but it was a hard-fought game and no one leaves the locker room all too discouraged. 

Jack plays with Swoops and Scraps on his line and it’s odd—a little bit like trying to grab a cup with one eye closed; there’s some sort of disconnect, but with a few adjustments, Jack can make it work. And he does—Jack’s goal in the second period was off a sweet assist from Scraps.

When Jack gets home, Kent is knocked out on the couch, fast asleep while NBCSN chatters in the background. Kent looks even younger like this, without that omnipresent scowl that looked so out of place on a person so young. Jack turns off the TV and kneels next to Kent.

“C’mon, Kenny,” Jack says quietly. “I’ve got a bed made up.”

Kent shifts wordlessly and without opening his eyes, reaches his arms out to Jack.

“All right. I got you.”

Jack picks Kent up carefully. His body is like a bird—sharp and light and impossibly fragile—and he loops his arms around Jack’s neck and his legs around Jack’s waist, clinging to Jack like a limpet.

Jack gets Kent settled in the guest room and when Jack’s head finally hits the pillow, sleep is quick to find him.

///

There’s something warm and solid curled against Jack’s chest when he wakes up. Jack’s arm tightens around them reflexively and he feels the curve of a smile against his collarbone.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Kent. Aged up again. Jack feels something tight in his chest loosen.

“Morning, _ange_,” Jack murmurs. There are so many things he wants to talk about, so many things de-aged Kent had revealed that Jack wanted to follow up on, but for now… He was warm and cozy and there was a very pretty boy in his bed. The questions could wait. Instead, he presses a kiss to Kent’s forehead. “I missed you.”

**Author's Note:**

> i have a [writing tumblr](https://wastingstarlight.tumblr.com) and a [main tumblr](https://leviathan.tumblr.com)!


End file.
